


all of it falling (or a lack of grip on reality)

by frenchleaves



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Bokuto Koutarou & Kuroo Tetsurou are Bros, Bokuto Week 2020, Coming of Age, Friendship, Gen, Haikyuu!! Manga Spoilers, Late Night Conversations, Light Angst, Mental Health Issues, Platonic Relationships, UHHHHHH mostly bokuroo, i'll update the tags when I upload the rest, mentions of bokuaka
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:21:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26454079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frenchleaves/pseuds/frenchleaves
Summary: "It feels so intimate for Tetsurou to witness this version of his friend, even if he has seen it countless times at a distance, which is maybe a testament of how mediocre of a friend he has been over the past year. The leaves of the tree over them rustle, and Tetsurou remembers just how late it really is as he looks up in tandem with Bokuto to the stars. Just for a moment he turns to his friend again, eyes contemplating the face of a boy made of wonder yet crushed by his lack of faith."alt., three times kuroo sees bokuto with his hair down.
Relationships: Bokuto Koutarou & Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23
Collections: Bokuto Week 2020





	all of it falling (or a lack of grip on reality)

**Author's Note:**

> hey!!! this is going to be in three parts (which i'll post probably later this week or the next one) but it's technically for day 1 of bokuto week 2020 uwu. (normal prompt is hair down)
> 
> title from the poem "On Rebellion" by Prageeta Sharma which is honestly a masterpiece.
> 
> this is unbeta'd and written at 3am so i'm sorry for any mistakes lmao. if i did the pov of a character i related to no i didn't yes i did no i didn't <3.

i. 

> “[...]Your anxiety might have represented a crushing faith
> 
> or a character assassination, my own or someone else's.
> 
> Or a lack of grip on reality: the wet rip of the grocery bags
> 
> all of it falling—
> 
> your body on all fours.
> 
> Accumulating soot upon retrieval.[...]”
> 
> – ** _On Rebellion,_** _Prageeta Sharma_

It’s truly a testament on Tetsurou’s stamina how long he can practice with Bokuto after such a long week of intensive training between their teams.

The lights of the gym they currently stand on are incredibly bright against the dim moonlight shining through the open door. Bokuto and Tetsurou stand alone, the volleyball net a frontier between them, and with no one else for company. Kenma had understandably dipped after ten minutes, looking so tired that Tetsurou knows this is not a time where he should push the blonde setter to his limit. Fukurodani’s new setter, Akaashi, had looked at Tetsurou distastefully and muttered something about him being a pain before swiftly exiting the gym right behind Kenma, Bokuto crying his name like a mantra. Tetsurou would be more insulted, but snippets of the past week, where teasing Akaashi for the dreamlike look he often gave Bokuto behind his back had become almost second nature deter him from letting the boy snap at him and causing a ruckus, which would probably throw Bokuto off and then cause unnecessary hassle. Tetsurou’s picking and choosing his battles, and all that. 

Tetsurou had then considered just going to eat and rest for the day, but Bokuto had looked up to him, inviting golden eyes full of purpose. After a year and a half of friendship, Tetsurou can say that there’s something about Bokuto that just drives him to be better, maybe it is spite, or even pure admiration for the man’s drive. He can’t understand how people don’t want to constantly keep up with him, as tiring as such a thing can turn out to be.

In a way, he can understand Akaashi’s dreamy look.

“Bro, send me another one,” Bokuto exclaims, moving towards the serving line, “I want to try to serve again. Maybe then I’ll finally get a service ace on you kitties tomorrow!”

“As if!” Tetsurou finds himself exclaiming back, pounds of energy bursting as if electricity after Bokuto’s threat. He grabs another ball from the basket, and rolls it to the other man. In true Kuroo fashion, as Yaku would often comment annoyingly, he decides to irritate his friend until he can get any advantage in this exclusive practice. After all, Tetsurou likes to win, Bokuto is an incredibly good player, and this practice is done all in good faith. “You think you can defeat us with your puny serves? Maybe that All-Japan training camp did nothing for you?”

Bokuto runs a hand through gelled hair, and between the collected sweat and the forced movement of his deft fingers, the typical style he carries goes away in place for a mass of messy hair, bleached white and black combining in what at a distance looks almost gray. Tetsurou wonders if he went a bit far with the taunts, but his friend looks at him with the corners of his mouth turned up, and he smiles right back. There is something crazed in his eyes, and Tetsurou remembers how often Bokuto can fall and crash over his anxious thoughts, for which he prepares in case he has to cheer his friend up. Who would he be, if he couldn’t do something as simple as supporting his friends after he has personally driven them crazy? He might have never personally managed one of Bokuto’s episodes, but he has good faith in his knowledge of Bokuto and dealing with anxiety. “Oh, you wish!” he mutters, but with the echo of the lonely gym, Tetsurou can hear him as if he were whispering in his ear.

The air is static around them, and every bounce of the ball Bokuto makes feels like the increasing tempo of an orchestra. Tetsurou prepares to receive, his stance shifting to accommodate for a receive of Bokuto's powerful serve, feet and legs and arms all shifting like a compass towards the man as if he were North. It turns out to be for nothing, as this on-the-verge version of Bokuto quickly slams the ball into the net, and it is the look of defeat in Bokuto’s eyes that quickly defeats any laughter that has been building up in Tetsurou’s chest. 

Messy hair drips sweat on Bokuto’s forehead, his golden eyes now dim and looking intensely at his feet. A hand clenches tightly, the ball continues to bounce just below the net, and the sound of sneakers against the wooden floor is all Tetsurou can have as a warning before Bokuto scurries away through the open doors. Tetsurou did not think this was going to be the reaction of a joke within a simple practice match, but with the taunts and the rising tension present in Bokuto’s shoulders, he has a feeling he should’ve known, and mourns the loss of Akaashi’s presence in this situation. He just always seems to know what to do, even with the limited amount of time he has known one Bokuto Koutarou. 

“Bokuto!” he calls out, his sneakers pounding against the wood as he runs behind his friend, hoping to catch up with him before he has to spend hours looking for him in the many corners of the school. The messy hair is unmistakable, even during the night, and they both must be tired, seen as they only make it as far as a cluster of trees right behind the gym they had just been in. “Wait!”

Bokuto looks at him with eyes so sad and tired that he says nothing more and follows him in silence. Tetsurou continues to run towards him even after the other boy had stopped in his tracks, and approaches him in an uncharacteristically shy sequence, a surprise even for him. They are both so sweaty it is almost to a disgusting degree, but the cold wind of the night makes it seem a lot less so. Tetsurou wonders if they will get sick come the morning, but the thought is quickly stored away.

“Was it the camp comment I made?” Tetsurou wonders aloud after a moment, and Bokuto turns to him so quickly he might have to look out for strained muscles later, which alone answers the question. He sits right besides the other boy, the distance between them so minimal that their knees already touch. “I’m sorry for taunting you with that. I had hoped getting invited to that would have made you more confident in your own skills, bro.”

There’s a sigh from beside him, and Tetsurou turns to his friend again, who looks intently at the stars, face shining against the moonlight. There is something in his eyes that reminds Tetsurou of Kenma when faced with social interaction, and it makes him understand the boy at his side a bit more. Considering how much he has seen Bokuto fall and crash during games and practices and training, he knows his friend has to deal with anxiety on a daily basis, and that it has only been the presence of Akaashi this year by which Fukurodani has started to truly understand Bokuto and his moods, even with the upcoming status of ace that has been awarded to him after the absolute devastation he caused for his rivals during his first year. It’s like watching a star be both born and killed in a single supernova explosion, or a mountain crushed under its own weight.

“There were so many other players who are just objectively better than me,” Bokuto finally says, hand finding a bunch of grass to pull. It feels so intimate for Tetsurou to witness this version of his friend, even if he has seen it countless times at a distance, which is maybe a testament of how mediocre of a friend he has been over the past year. The leaves of the tree over them rustle, and Tetsurou remembers just how late it really is as he looks up in tandem with Bokuto to the stars. Just for a moment he turns to his friend again, eyes contemplating the face of a boy made of wonder yet crushed by his lack of faith. “It felt like a waste of talent for me to be there, someone else could have easily been invited.”

“Bullshit,” Tetsurou says as a reflex, and laughs softly at the surprised look Bokuto gives him in retaliation. The boy looks at him, eyes still surprised at the sudden shift, and the hunched shoulders and the messy hair that is not longer defying gravity make him look much smaller and younger than they already are. With that, Tetsurou realizes how the boisterous presence Bokuto tends to fill feels strange when presented as a whisper in the wind. He continues then, voice much lighter than the air surrounding the pair, and Tetsurou’s normal aloof tone works as a complete reset of the conversation. “You already told me in much detail about all the hunks who went to the camp, and that’s including you, bro. I’ve already told you this before, but your raw talent is so impressive, no one can say otherwise.”

“But I know I’m not reliable,” Bokuto whines, looking more like himself as a bit of shine goes back to his eyes. “How can I be the ace when I can’t even support my team?”

Tetsurou’s eyes shine brightly, a smile on his lips as he replies with what he has learned from his team and his coach, now a philosophy so deeply embedded into his soul that he has taken it for granted up until this point. “See, Kou. You’re an amazing spiker, and that’s an undeniable fact.  _ However _ , the fun thing about volleyball is that there are six people on the court at all times, working as a team always. It doesn’t matter if you make a mistake one, twice, or even a thousand times. As long as you know that they are there to support you just as much as you support them, that you know that you are connected intrinsically within the different positions and places and roles, then whatever the game throws at you will be nothing!” he says, looking at Bokuto directly in the eyes, and hoping the Nekoma philosophy gets to him before he can fall deeper into self-hate. 

Maybe it’s how tired they are that makes Bokuto give in easier, but Tetsurou watches with glee how the boy then smiles a bit, mood deterred. He knows a few kind words can’t change how Bokuto feels, but if he can help to alleviate a bit of the burden, especially in the present situation, then he will always be there to help a friend. 

“I know, I know,” Bokuto says, elongating the vowels, now looking extremely less burdened than before, but still hunching his shoulders uncharacteristically, “but if I don’t spike well, or do a good serve, then we don’t get a point, and it doesn’t matter if there’s two or eleven people on my side of the court. If I pour all my intent into each play, into each ball, and it doesn’t succeed, what kind of ace does that make me?”

“A human one, you dumbass!” Tetsurou laughs, hitting the other boy lightly on the shoulder. “The most reliable thing about someone is knowing that they’re bound to make mistakes every now and then, and what truly makes a team is how they adapt to each and every situation.” he explains, and Bokuto very loudly grumbles as he launches backwards, head hitting the grass with a thud, and giving him further access to view the night sky. “Either way, Fukurodani wouldn’t have made it to nationals three times already, twice with you as a starter, if they hadn’t considered you an asset. I really don’t think you have to worry about being unreliable when all proof states otherwise.”

Golden eyes find him, and Bokuto looks much more relaxed. Tetsurou does too, but maybe it’s just him being tired after pulling a diving bird from crashing. “Yeah,” Bokuto trails off, sitting up, grass rustling below him as he accommodates. That’s when Tetsurou decides it moment to move if they even want to get a sliver of rest, especially because if Bokuto is tired tomorrow after training after hours with him, Akaashi and the Fukurodani coaches will kill him without hesitation. Tetsurou learned the hard way how volatile a sleepy Bokuto can be. “You’re a good friend, Tetsu.”

“You too bro,” Tetsurou says, looking down at the boy and his messy dual colored hair. It’s so amazing how much a hairstyle can change how a person is perceived, and he wonders how much hair gel he should get Bokuto for his next birthday. He looks so much more relaxed and happier with his hair sticking up every direction but down. He hears in the distance some of the managers walking in the hallways, probably making sure everyone is going to sleep soon and not having deep conversation at the edge of the woods after taking after hours practice too seriously. That works as a cue, and Tetsurou remembers that the gym they have been using is still messy and probably so full of sweat.

“C’mon, let’s clean up the gym before someone kills us,” Tetsurou smiles, offering Bokuto a hand that is gladly taken. He bids the stars goodnight, and hopes that any hopeful word he had muttered had nestled its way into Bokuto’s ideal of life, be it within volleyball or not. 

Knowing his friend, there is no way volleyball and daily life aren’t interconnected, so he’s not that worried.

Watching a shooting star in the distant sky, Tetsurou wonders if he should be. 

**Author's Note:**

> hmu at my twitter [@shikameninist](https://twitter.com/shikameninist)


End file.
